


The Tie That Binds

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Finally, but that won't stop the smut, formal wear smut, i don't think it does - Freeform, in that her sash detaches from the dress, slightly AU, the 'tie' is not what you're thinking btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: It's the formal wear smut I promised a million years ago!  Just PWP Turnadette smut and love. Set immediately after the series 8 finale.





	The Tie That Binds

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write the formal wear smut. Did you see them? Dressed in their formals and giving me major **heart eyes**. You saw them, right? It had to be done. I based the bit with the sash on a romance novel tiny ginchy read. It belonged to my Granny and my eyes were big as saucers reading this particular scene--I cannot remember the book nor the author (and in that book a stocking was used, not a sash) but this is my homage to that scene. If anyone has any idea of a book in which the hero took off the heroine's stocking and teased her with it, well, I'd be grateful to know. It was probably a 1970s or 80s bodice ripper. ;) Thanks to fourteen-teacups, mylittleyellowbird, and wednesdaygilfillian for being wonderful gals and betas or pre-readers. mwah!!!

Blinking awake, Shelagh drew in a breath, nuzzling against Patrick’s arm. He shifted against her as she cuddled into him.

“What time is it?” His voice was rough from sleep. 

Shelagh took his arm, tilting his wrist. “Just gone one,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder once more. 

“Hm.” He leaned forward, taking up a flute of red wine. “I’d poured this for a bit of a night-cap… though we slept well enough without it!” He offered it to her.

Shelagh giggled quietly and took a sip before giving it back. She took her glasses from the arm of the settee and slipped them on. “Do you think the children are sleeping?”

His bottom lip was wet with wine as he held the glass and softly smiled. “May was asleep when I carried her up. Angela nearly so. I’m afraid only one little girl made it into her pyjamas!”

Exhaling a laugh, Shelagh took the glass once more. “Teddy was sleeping soundly,” she said, smiling at the thought of her baby boy, snuggled in his crib. “Nanny said he wasn’t a bit of trouble!”

“Too bad his big brother wasn’t as sweet.” Patrick shifted his arm to wrap it around her. “Though I know Timothy was only upset that his girl wasn’t at the dance.” He watched Shelagh as she took a slow sip of the dark red liquid. “I would have been upset if _my_ girl hadn’t been there.”

“Oh,” Shelagh tutted, ducking her head. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have held your head in your hands all evening.” She set the glass on the table. Leaning back in, she gazed at Patrick with lowered lids. He was slightly rumpled by their short rest. He had removed his coat and loosened the bow tie before they slept. Paired with the slightly mussed state of his hair, he was darkly attractive in the silence of the early morning, and Shelagh’s heart began to race. “Perhaps you would have danced with a lonely woman in need of an escort.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, the fabric of his shirt rustling against the settee as he moved in close. “Another woman wouldn’t compare,” he murmured, letting his fingers rest against her jaw, his touch so light as to almost not be felt. 

“Patrick--” 

His fingers moved to touch her temple and thread into the flare of hair there. “The children were underfoot when you came downstairs this evening,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the outline of her ear. “I said then that Mummy looked very pretty…” Trailing off, his fingers glided from her hair to her neck and then a single finger traced it’s way down her throat to the line of her dress. “Mummy is more than pretty,” he said, meeting her eyes as his hand dropped to her waist. “She’s beautiful.”

A smile pushed at the corners of her lips, her cheeks flushing at his appreciative gaze. His eyes glittered in the low light and anticipation hung heavy between them. Shelagh’s dress bunched as she sat forward, lifting one hand to cup his jaw. “I felt beautiful,” she confessed, the skin at her chest flushing, heat rising into her cheeks. “I used to dream about dances, pretty dresses…” her eyes flicked to meet his. “You.”

“Mrs. Turner!” His eyes lit with mischief. “How did your dreams end?” Leaning in, he let his lips brush softly against hers. “Perhaps with a kiss?” 

Her eyes blinked open. Catching his humor, she giggled. “Oh, I’m not certain that was a kiss, Doctor Turner.”

“No?” His voice was low, teasing. “May I try again?”

Tilting her head, her lips thinned as she tried to hide a smile. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re very generous,” he whispered, closing the gap between them to meet her lips with his. As they kissed, they shifted on the settee, Shelagh falling back against the armrest as Patrick leaned forward, one leg balanced between hers as he pressed her into the cushions. 

“Oh,” Shelagh murmured, as he pulled away, looking down at her. She tugged him back into another kiss. 

Her skirt caught under his legs as he loomed over her, unable to get as close as he would like. Wrenching his mouth away, he licked his lips, before carding a hand through his hair. The fabric of her dress rustled, caught under his leg. “My love. I’m afraid there’s not enough room for the pair of us and this dress on the settee.”

“I suppose I do need to hang it,” she said, beginning to sit up, making a show of smoothing her rumpled skirt.

Patrick stood and offered a hand. “Perhaps you need help unzipping?”

“I think that’s a possibility,” she hummed, stepping in close and running a slim finger down the line of buttons on his shirt. His bowtie was still about his neck, and she slowly pulled it away, moving in closely to slip it into his trouser pocket. She wiggled her fingers to brush against the growing stiffness between his legs. As the heat against her fingers grew, she slowly removed her hand. “It wouldn’t do for you to lose your tie.”

He made a low growling noise, swatting at her bottom as she turned toward the stairs. Stifling a giggle, she held a finger to her lips. The corridor was dark and quiet as they made their way to their bedroom, Patrick crowding in close as Shelagh opened the door. “Patrick,” she laughed, turning the lock on the door, “there’s no need to--” She was cut off as he leaned in and took her mouth with his own, parting her lips to tease and taste, pressing her against the wall next to the door. 

Shelagh’s hands went to his shoulders, nails clutching into the fabric. The hair ornament in her bun pressed into her scalp, but she tilted her head, intent on meeting and matching his ardour. She brought her hands to his shirt, breaking away with a pant as she worked the tiny buttons free. Tugging the shirt open, she kissed his collar bone before working free his cufflinks. She undid the strap of his watch, placing it and the links onto the dressing table before touching her lips to his wrist. 

Another slight growl came from deep within his throat, and he turned her to face the wall, pressing the hard length of him against her. She heard the whisper of fabric from his shirt as it hit the floor. Her heart pounded in time with the growing ache between her legs as his lips touched the back of her neck. He trailed from her neck to the zip on her dress, and Shelagh moaned quietly, gasping as his fingers took hold of the zipper. 

He straightened, lips coming to rest at her ear. “Whilst you were speaking on stage I thought about this,” he said, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. “You were so pretty; so put together.” He began to pull the zipper down. “But I thought of you like this,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “In my arms, hair coming loose, cheeks flush….”

Her breath escaped in frantic gasps. “Please…” she murmured, body thrumming with heat. She clenched her legs together.

His nipped at her neck, soothing the bite with his tongue. He bent and kissed the skin revealed by the parted fabric, loosening the bow at her waist. “Does this… ah,” he said, pulling the sash free and undoing the zipper. 

His fingers started to pull at one strap, but Shelagh turned, wrapping her arms about his neck. She stretched up on her toes as if to kiss him, before stopping, hiding a smile as she touched the fabric of her sash, now around his neck. “This is a good color for you,” she murmured. 

Patrick’s grin was wicked. “Not as much for you,” he said, tugging once more at the strap. “Let’s quickly get it off.”

“Oh!” She began to giggle. “I did say that I wanted to hang it….” She lowered the straps, letting the dress fall around her.

“Hang it later,” he growled, taking her up and into his arms, leaving the dress on the floor, the bodice standing upright as the skirt pooled. He placed her on the bed, burying his face in her neck as his hands worked busily, removing her brassiere and smoothing down her bare stomach. “I approve of the lack of girdle,” he said, nipping her shoulder.

“Ah,” she murmured, arching her neck. “The dress had structure enough….” the word trailed off in a moan as he moved against her. “Do that again.”

He kissed her neck again, moving against her. She arched, her nipples furled into tight peaks as he pulled back. Her cheeks reddened. “The soft fabric,” she explained. “It feels…. Nice.”

He looked down at the sash about his neck. “Does it?” His voice was tinged with interest. “Lie back,” he murmured, removing the material and placing it on the bed. As she settled against the pillows, he removed her glasses to the side table and then began to unsnap her suspenders and remove her knickers. He took his time in rolling her stockings down her legs, winking as she wiggled her toes in a bid to hurry him along. Kissing her foot, he took the sash back in hand and wrapped it around his palm, leaving a small piece to dangle. 

“What are you--” Shelagh started to question him, but he took the cloth and very gently teased her lips with it. Her brow furrowed. 

He sat next to her. “Just let me…” he dipped the tip of the cloth to gently run down her neck and over her collarbones. 

“Oh,” she breathed, closing her eyes as he trailed the sash between her breasts and over her stomach.

“More?” His voice was soft, matching the whisper of fabric against her skin.

She pressed her body upward, seeking more contact. “Yes…”

Dipping the cloth just barely into the junction of her thighs, he let it wander down her leg before tracing her arm from fingertip to shoulder. She pressed her breasts together, opening her eyes to look at him in supplication. 

He growled from deep within his throat. “When you look at me like that…” Leaning in, his lips brushed hers, the cloth at his palm soft against her cheek. 

Shelagh moaned, rubbing her legs together as the ache there began to throb. “Patrick, touch me.”

His grin was naughty as he pulled back, gently dancing the cloth against her throat. “Like this?”

Her frustrated groan turned into a gasp as he parted her legs, teasing the tip of the sash against her inner thigh. “Oh,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Please…”

With a low chuckle, he teased the cloth against her slit, moving it away as Shelagh arched toward him. She started to object, but the tip of the cloth brushed against a hardened nipple and she pushed against the mattress, seeking to prolong the contact. He moved to the other breast, gently playing, ghosting the sash once more down her stomach, over her hips and between her legs. Leaning in, he sucked one nipple into his mouth.

Shelagh stifled a cry of pleasure, trying to capture his wandering hand with her legs. “Please,” she repeated, as he continued his play, “I need you inside me….” She was wet and throbbing, the grasp of her internal muscles painfully pleasurable as she sought friction. 

He stood to remove his vest and trousers, dropping the sash onto the bed. Shelagh took it and cocked an eyebrow at him as he stood next to her. She lifted herself slightly. “Turnabout…” she began, wrapping the cloth about her hand and grasping his hard length, “is fair--”

He thrust against her with a low groan but grabbed her hand in his. Moving back onto the bed, he loomed over her as the sash caught between their bodies. Palms on the bed, he grinned down at her as she wrapped her legs around him. Leaning in, he brushed his nose against hers as the head of his erection nudged her opening. “You’re far softer than the sash…”

She exhaled into a sigh and pulled at the length of cloth until it came away, wanting his warm skin against hers. Ready for him to quit with his teasing, she used the tips of her nails to pull at his hips. The flash in his eyes caused a red flush to spread over her cheeks and neck, but he pressed forward, giving her what they both wanted, pushing deeply inside. She opened her mouth to cry out, but his lips were there, catching the sound as she whimpered her pleasure. Sucking at his lower lip, she clenched her fingers into his back as he began to move. 

There were no words, only the raging heat as their bodies connected. Shelagh brought her hands to her thighs, supporting them as she cradled him, meeting him thrust for thrust, seeking the pleasure only he could give her. 

Their eyes met. He was thick and hard and had so gently loved and teased her…. Shelagh broke apart with a ragged whimper, long wet spasms of pleasure suffusing through her body. “Patrick,” she gasped, as she let go and surrendered to her body’s demand. 

He buried his head in her neck, lips hot and sucking against her skin to contain his growl. He pulsated inside, grinding himself into her as their rapture was prolonged. Gasping for breath, he turned, lying against his pillow. Pleasured and damp, Shelagh pulled the hair ornament from her bun, placing it on the side table before rolling, settling in at his side. She kissed his chest and murmured to him as he caught his breath. For too long their love-making had been quickly snatched moments between the children’s bedtimes and the call of patients. She felt decadent in this moment with him and sought to snuggle closer, only to feel the fabric of her dress sash under her shoulder. She took it in hand, looping it around Patrick’s wrist.

“What’s all this?” he rasped, laughing lowly as she wrapped the other end of the sash around her own wrist. 

“The tie that binds,” she murmured, satiation stealing the humor from her voice. 

He turned toward her, the dear smile that she loved bright in the dim room. “I think that tie is love.”

“Oh,” she leaned in to nuzzle him.

“And don’t forget the…” he trailed off, squeezing her bottom.

“Patrick!” Giggling, they rested together, Patrick eventually growing heavy against her as he dozed. His breath was deep and even in her ear as she removed the sash from their wrists, allowing it to fall to the floor as she settled against her husband and slept.


End file.
